


Tea Time With Death

by dean_likes_trenchcoats



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Death, Tea, died of old age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 01:25:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8601736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dean_likes_trenchcoats/pseuds/dean_likes_trenchcoats
Summary: Prompt: The grim reaper (death) shows up to take the soul of an elderly woman named Agnes, he seems weary so she offers him some tea and he accepts.From the prompt account on tumblr @writing-prompt-s





	

**Author's Note:**

> I want to say, this is VERY loosely based on the SPN universe. Ghosts can move things without learning how and they can eat and drink. The character Death is the only thing that's from the SPN universe and there is no mention of anything other than him. I actually did not intend for Death to be like the one in SPN at all but apparently that's how I imagine him after watching the show. And the 'honey and a splash of milk' thing, I wrote this before I even saw that episode. Pure coincidence that I take my tea that way.
> 
> To me, this fiction is entirely not related to the show. I felt the need to stress that. I really just wanted to publish this somewhere I'm proud of it and I'm rambling in these notes.

Agnes was 73. Her joints creaked when she got out of bed in the morning, she coughed painfully when she made her coffee, her lungs black from decades of cigarettes. She took a walk every morning at 7:30, and said hi in passing to Donna and Clyde, the nice young couple next door, who sat on their doorsteps every morning to watch the sunrise. She made herself a sandwich at 11:45 and ate it while watching daytime tv. She spent her day reading and drinking tea until she made herself a dinner at seven every night. She rarely changed her schedule, and if she did she was getting groceries or going to the doctors. Those small out of the house excursions were scheduled on regular days. She had no family, so her only visitors were the occasional neighbor. That's why when a frail man appeared in her kitchen one morning, she screamed.

 

The scream turned into a nasty cough. Surprisingly, the cough was painless. It almost felt like she was doing it out of habit. She still felt the need to sit down at the table and catch her breath. Once she recovered, the man hadn’t moved or spoke and was staring at her intently. He had a cane in one hand supporting his weight, and a brown paper bag in the other. He wore a long, unbuttoned, long, peacoat and a finely tailored suit. His frame was thin and frail, his cheeks were sunken in, and his skin looked pale and spotty. His dark grey hair was slicked back. His facial expression said business, but his posture and his eyes suggested he was tired and sad.

 

“Might who you be?” Agnes asked, maintaining a steady voice.

 

“Death.” the man replied in a rough english accent.

 

“Excuse me?” the old woman gasped out.

 

The man finally moved, and sat down across from Agnes. He rested his cane against the counter, and placed his paper bag in front of him. A sweet and tangy smell exuded from the bag. He folded his hands together on the table and looked at Agnes.

 

“I am Death. I’m here to lead your soul to wherever you’re going.” he said solemnly.

 

“I’m supposed to die today?” She got quiet, yet she didn’t sound disappointed.

 

“I’m afraid you already have. If you go into your bedroom you’ll see your body, still there.” he paused and looked at the old woman sitting across from him. “I can show you if you like.”

 

Agnes shook her head and looked down at her feet for a moment.

 

“No, I believe you,” She scanned the day out the window above the sink, the sun was just up and made everything look golden. Then she gazed back at Death, who still looked at her wearily. “I don’t know why I believe you, but I do.”

 

“My condolences.” he said after a long bout of silence. He twiddled with his hands as he looked around the room. The sound of his ruffling suit against the silence of the house was almost deafening. For someone who had probably been doing his job for millenias, he seemed awkward in executing it.

 

“No need, I’m old. It's obviously my time and I could use a change in… life.” They both chuckled at the comment. Death cracked a small smile, but it faded quickly.

 

They sat in silence for about another minute, Agnes watching Death, studying his features, while he looked around the room. Wasn’t he supposed to do something? Take her into the light? Or the fiery pits of hell? But all he did was sit there, looking nervous and upset.

 

“Can you drink tea?” She said, and he looked up, momentarily confused but he nodded. “Would you like some?” the reaper nodded again.

 

She shuffled up to her cupboard and searched for her selection of teas. She uncovered the long wooden box and placed it in front of him. He selected the small jar of loose chamomile and handed it to the old woman. Agnes chose her favorite chai mint tea.

 

The gas stove clicked as it lit, and she filled her old silver kettle and placed it on the low flame. She went back to the cupboard to grab a bright yellow mug for herself, her favorite mug, and a navy mug for Death. She retrieved her tea strainer from her silverware drawer, filled it with chamomile, and placed it in the navy mug. She tore open the paper containing her tea bag and put that in her cup.

 

“Honey, sugar, or milk?” He voice raised in question at the end of the sentence.

 

“Honey and a splash of milk, thank you.” He replied.

 

Agnes smiled. Her and Death took their tea the same way.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're wondering whats in the brown bag, its lemon bars from some bakery in New York.
> 
> Also I may write the conversation Agnes and Death had but its not coming to me at the moment. If it feels right I'll write it and post it as another chapter.


End file.
